


when I'm falling I'm at peace

by Lise



Series: Remember This Cold [22]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Feelings, Flashbacks, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Loki's a goddamn mess, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Psychological Trauma, Steve Rogers' PTSD, in which Steve is very worried a lot of the time, in which Thor and Loki have a civil conversation whoa, so many feelings, the fic where I fix what I broke (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:39:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1823605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doom is dead and Loki is back. Now comes the hard part. (Directly follows "only when you hit the ground.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	when I'm falling I'm at peace

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not very good at fixing things that I break. Or at least, not most of the time. That said, this fic was both fun and terrible to write, and ended up giving me a lot of Steve feelings, actually. I suppose given that I was writing from Loki's POV perhaps that isn't surprising. 
> 
> This is the first of two connecting installments that I'm writing before I start working on the next major installment of Remember This Cold, which if you follow my tumblr you've seen me talking about. The other one will follow "Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me" and is already well under way. 
> 
> I swear to god I'm working on all the other things I'm supposed to be doing too. (Life In Reverse is open on my computer right now!) 
> 
> With so many thanks to my beta, [zaataronpita](http://zaataronpita.tumblr.com), who not only reads my fic but also keeps me sane. Bless.

The last time Loki remembered being conscious, he’d been certain he was dying. Steve had been there, fingers burning his face like little brands, his voice gentle, reassuring. _Safe,_ he’d said. _I’m here. Everything’s going to be fine._

He remembered little else after that, except the distant thought that perhaps now he was finally going to die and that would be the end of it.

The next time he was aware of his surroundings, everything was blurry and indistinct and he could feel himself floating as though he was slightly removed from his own body. He could hear voices but not distinguish them, and his eyes struggled to open.

Someone loomed over him and he snarled without thinking, arms jerking up only to meet resistance. So he was bound. Loki felt his heart start to race as the face hovering in his vision scrunched up, lips moving. “Loki,” he realized it was saying, belatedly. “You’re not in any danger. No one’s going to hurt you.”

It wasn’t Doom, his blurry thoughts recognized. There was no metal mask, no green cloak. No scalpel or syringe. Though his hands still ached, it wasn’t the acute, sharp pain he remembered. And while he could feel the pain waiting for him, it was distant, just out of reach.

His thoughts blurred, confused. Was he dead? No; then he would not be restrained. He didn’t understand, and his thoughts moved sluggishly, like wading through mud. Or quicksand, unconsciousness threatening to pull him down again.

Another face appeared above him, brows furrowed with worry. “Loki?” He recognized that voice.

“Steve,” Loki said, feeling his lips turn up at the corners. Had that not been a hallucination, then? Or was this one, now? He thought he remembered…maybe he remembered talking to him before. Everything was so confused.

“It’s me,” Steve said, and smiled, though it looked strained. “You’re still healing, Loki. You need to stay calm.”

Loki closed his eyes and let his head loll back. A hand rested briefly on his forehead and then pulled away. He heard a worried murmur of, “it’s up again,” and forced his eyes to open. The colors of the world seemed too sharp, too bright. He made his fingers twitch and nearly gasped at the pain that shot up his forearms.

“Loki,” Steve’s voice admonished, but that seemed wrong. How long – how long had he been…

He reached for his magic and nearly screamed with pain, did scream, maybe, because the next thing he knew Steve’s hand were on his shoulders and pressing down and he was saying _shh, shhh,_ in a worried, soothing voice.

“What’s happening,” he asked. “What’s…what’s wrong with me?”

“Stay calm,” Steve said again. “Just stay calm and keep still. You’re gonna be fine.”

The other shadow fell over him, and Loki moved his eyes to try to make out his face in shadow, but they caught on his hands. On the small thing he was holding. A tube full of pale clear liquid and a fine, slender silver needle.

_No,_ Loki’s mind gibbered. _No no no,_ and perhaps he said it aloud but he knew he thrashed, struggling, fighting the soft restraints holding him down and the weight on his shoulders holding him flat and stretched out. He could feel his magic thrashing with him, writhing like a wounded animal, like some twisted broken _thing_ inside of him that was all _wrong._ His heart hammered against his ribs, too fast and too hard and-

He lost it again. The world, everything. It didn’t come back for a while.

* * *

The next time Loki woke his head felt a little clearer, though the edges of things were still soft. The pain was a little closer, though, and he eyed it warily before turning his thoughts deliberately away. Someone was stroking his hair, and he could hear two voices murmuring back and forth. He kept his eyes closed and tried to listen, momentary fear ebbing quickly at the low volume. Doom wouldn’t bother to keep his voice down.

“—thought I was dead,” he heard, and relaxed the rest of the way. Steve. “Apparently Doom said…” Steve trailed off.

“What troubles you?” Thor’s voice. Of course he was here, Loki thought, but couldn’t quite summon up the venom he wanted to at the moment. Steve exhaled.

“A lot of things,” he said, and Loki imagined him shaking his head.  “He said he would have followed. That he would’ve-” Steve broke off. “Sometimes it seems like…I don’t know. I worry.”

“I do also, my friend.” Thor’s voice was a low rumble. “Loki has always had…some recklessness. But I cannot help but think that he used to value his life more.” Silence, for a moment, and then Thor added, voice rough, “it is a pity I can only kill von Doom once.”

Doom was dead? Loki tried to remember if he’d known that. He couldn’t remember, though; everything was such a blur of pain and nightmare that he couldn’t be certain what had really happened and what he’d only dreamed. He did feel a rush of relief. If Doom was dead…he couldn’t come back to cut him apart again.

The fingers in his hair paused, and for a moment Loki thought his wakefulness had been observed, but then Steve said softly, “his magic...”

“I don’t know.” Thor sighed heavily. “He is healing more slowly than he ought, as well. But no means I know of exists to…remove a sorcerer’s magic without killing them, and he is…mending. Perhaps…perhaps it will just take time.”

“It’s just…we don’t know what kinds of things Doom did to him. If there was something…something he did…”

“His fever’s gone down,” Thor said, but Loki could almost hear the frown in his voice. _What kinds of things Doom did…I could tell you._ Loki shuddered without meaning to, and heard Steve suck in a breath. “Brother – Loki? Are you awake?” Thor asked.

Loki forced his eyes open and licked his lips, which felt dry. Everything was still vaguely foggy, distant, and he couldn’t quite focus on any one thing. His heart fluttered nervously, even _knowing_ that between Thor and Steve he was…safer than almost anywhere else. “Water,” he said, trying to work moisture into his mouth. The fingers pulled out of his hair and he heard Steve murmur “just a minute, I’ll get some.” Thor was scrutinizing his face.

“Loki,” Thor said, after a moment, his voice a rumble. “How…how do you feel?”

Loki made his lips curve, because he didn’t like the groove between Thor’s eyebrows and the heavy way he held himself. “Just – wonderful.” Thor’s lips twitched a little, but his expression didn’t really lighten, and Loki looked away. Thor’s fingers brushed his arm lightly, but they pulled away quickly, and then Steve was back with a glass of water. Loki tried to push himself up and just managed to swallow a gasp as the pain in his arms reminded him vividly of his state.

Steve lifted his head and tipped the glass to his lips, and if the water was lukewarm it still felt blessedly good on his throat. “How long,” Loki asked when it was gone. Steve hesitated.

“It’s been a week and a half since you were taken. Five days since we got you back.” Loki felt a peculiar lurch in his chest. Ten days, lost. He tried to remember if…but it had gotten very quickly very difficult to separate the days when he was with Doom. It had all blurred together into a haze of pain and hate and then despair-

(Steve was alive. Steve was still _alive._ Stop dwelling on it.)

“Loki,” Steve said, quietly, after a moment, but he closed his eyes and tried cautiously to reach for his magic, only to let out a quiet gasp at the pain that shot up his spine and through his chest. Fear rose up his throat like bile. _It’s not gone, it can’t be gone._

“And neither of you – has had anything better to do than hover?” Loki asked, as he caught the flicker in Thor’s face that meant he’d noticed. He didn’t want – he couldn’t take their worry and pity, not with his own fear. Thor frowned.

“No,” Steve said. “Not really.” There was something in his voice that dared Loki to challenge him. Loki didn’t have the energy, already exhausted again. The light cut through his eyelids, though, making his stomach churn. Strapped on his back, held down and the light in his eyes-

Loki felt his pulse start to thud and licked his lips again. Maybe they weren’t here. Maybe this wasn’t real. Maybe he was just dreaming, still unable to die.

“Loki?” Steve’s voice sounded far away. Hardly even real. Which made sense, because Steve was dead, _I cut his head from his shoulders with his own shield_ no, no no _no-!_

His hands clenched and he could hear the whine of the blade descending again to cut into him, to cut him apart, Doom’s voice saying _perhaps the brain, so difficult to determine what might be fatal damage…_

He heard himself make a faint keening noise and someone grabbed his hand, trying to pry his fingers open, someone-

“Loki!” Thor’s voice reached him as though at a great depth, so familiar. “Loki, listen to me. Open your eyes and look at me. Steve is alive, I am alive-”

It was the _light_ boring into him leaving him naked, flayed. His magic exploded out of him, answering his will at last, and the light went out. Something landed lightly on his face like little droplets of ice, and he subsided, shivering and surprised. He hadn’t lost control of his power like that since he’d been a child. (But at least, he told himself with fierce determination, it was still there.)

His fingers uncurled slowly, his heart slowing and his thoughts slow and sluggish. “He’s bleeding again,” Steve said, quietly. “Bruce should probably…Loki?”

_You never left. He’s still holding you. If not in body then in mind._ Loki felt his jaw tighten. “I’m fine,” he said, but his voice shook. Weak, he was _weak._ Steve’s fingers stroked the back of his hand and Loki wished he could roll over and curl into himself, sick with shame and fear. A light, nothing more. Thor brushed the droplets of ice – glass – off his face with a gentle hand.

Loki felt his body start to shake. He wanted to cry, tears welling up and stinging his eyes. _Pathetic wretch._

“You’re safe,” Thor said, voice and words meant to be soothing. Loki turned his head away from Thor, refusing to open his eyes.

“No,” he said, not quite savagely. “No I’m not.”

Doom was dead, and his new enemy was his own mind.

Loki let exhaustion drag him back down.

* * *

When he woke again his arms felt positively light, and the lights were dimmed. Loki felt a rush of relief and then hated it and himself both. It took him a moment to realize that he was alone.

He hadn’t woken up alone before. His heart-rate picked up even as he started to rationalize, _they probably just stepped out for a moment, no one said they had to stay here with you at all times, no doubt there are other things to be done and it probably won’t be long…_

He remembered last time he’d woken alone, curled up on Steve’s side of the bed. He’d crawled out of the bedroom wearing only a robe and padded down the hall to the kitchen and then the windows were shattering and Doom was there-

He was beginning to feel pain, whatever he’d been given to keep it at a distance fading, and pain spidered violently across his chest when his breathing caught. His muscles tensed, and the quiet was suddenly overwhelming, his ears straining for a sound. They’d left him alone, Steve had left him alone, alone and vulnerable and _weak-_

(Doom is dead, he tried to remind himself. Thor killed him, and another voice answered _are you certain? Are you certain it was not one of his machines? That he is not waiting, somewhere out there, to claim you again?_ )

His breathing kept quickening and he couldn’t slow it. He could feel panic closing in and couldn’t chase it away.

“Mr. Odinson?” said the voice in the ceiling, and Loki sunk his teeth into his lip in shame at being seen like this, even by a machine. Or perhaps by all of them, were they watching and- “Do you require assistance?”

“No,” Loki said tightly. He’d almost forgotten the pain, but it was coming back in earnest now so he could almost feel every place where Doom had cracked open his ribcage to reach his core. “No, I-” Air didn’t seem to quite be filling his lungs, and his heart pounded hard enough that Loki half expected it to break through his healing bones.

“Captain Steve Rogers is at a briefing with the other Avengers,” the computer, JARVIS, said. The tone of voice sounded as though it was meant to be soothing. “He is still in the building. I can call him if…”

Still here. Still in the building, only a few floors away. He still couldn’t quite breathe, not the way he wanted to, and when he reached for his magic he nearly threw up at the way it was twisted, _wrong._ Mutilated, almost, as wounded as his body and Loki had no idea how to mend it.

_Helpless. Weak. No one here to protect you now._ The voice in his mind sounded like Doom’s, or perhaps Thanos’s.

Loki’s mind went blank and when he blinked he was on his knees, bent double and struggling for air. There was a ringing in his ears – no, the alarm. That was the alarm. He tried to shove himself up – _need to run, need to get out of here it’s not safe it isn’t-_

The door slammed open and he turned. Steve wasn’t alone, flanked by Barton and Stark. “My apologies, gentlemen,” the machine JARVIS said. “Mr. Odinson was suffering an attack of some kind.”

Loki saw Steve slump. “Oh,” he said, heavily, and Loki wanted to cringe in shame. “Clint, Tony…tell Fury I’ll give him my report later.” He was already crossing the room, and Loki looked away in spite of the undeniable wave of relief at seeing him. Foolish, childish, but his heart still whispered that he was safe with Steve here.

Steve knelt down next to him, his movements slow and careful, and if a part of Loki wanted to snap that he wouldn’t _break_ the rest of him was grateful because his mind didn’t seem to be processing things as it ought. “Are you okay?” Steve asked, voice full of worry and care.

_No,_ Loki thought. “Fine,” he made himself say. “I merely…” He didn’t have an explanation. Steve gave him a smile that was small and strained and made Loki want to look away.

“Can I help you back up? You should still be resting.”

Loki felt his jaw tighten. “It shouldn’t take me this long to heal.”

Something flickered across Steve’s face, but Loki didn’t think he could be sure exactly what it was. “You are healing. I know it feels slow, but-”

“There’s something _wrong_ with me.” The words burst out of him, and Loki wasn’t certain he meant to say them. Steve winced but he didn’t look away, and Loki was grateful for that.

“You’re hurt,” Steve said, like it was a correction. “That’s not the same thing as – as _wrong._ It takes time. That’s all.”

Loki swallowed the urge to scream, to rage. It wasn’t Steve’s fault. (He should have been there, whispered a treacherous voice, and he smothered it ruthlessly. If anything, he should have been cleverer, faster, stronger. Something.)

“What happened?” Steve asked eventually, gently, easing his arm under Loki’s and beginning to help him up. “And don’t – don’t say nothing.”

Loki didn’t look at him. “I woke and you were not there,” he said, after a long moment, and felt Steve tense. “It’s foolish-”

“No,” Steve said, his voice almost harsh, but when he repeated himself it was quieter. “No. I should have thought…I should have been there. I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

“You had to,” Loki made himself say.

“I’ll stay now,” Steve said, almost fervently. “I won’t go anywhere.”

_Don’t make promises you can’t keep,_ Loki thought, but he wanted to believe it.

* * *

_He dreamed he was on his back, arms spread-eagled and body strapped down, his head too heavy on his neck and lolling back and forth. It steadied, briefly, his eyes clearing for a moment, and over his heaving chest he could see Doom bent over him. The man’s head turned and his eyes caught on Loki’s for a moment. Curses bubbled from his lips, fractions of profanities, but Doom ignored them, turning back to his work._

_Blood dripped from the blades of the infernal machine onto his skin as Doom’s hands delved into his entrails like his body was an oracle to be read. Loki blinked sluggishly, whatever drug Doom had pushed into his veins keeping his heart from pounding, his body from moving, but it didn’t dull the pain._

_Didn’t dull the feeling of horror at feeling gloved fingers on his insides._

_Doom removed his hand and turned away, only to turn back with a small metal object between two bloodied fingers. He held it up and looked at it for a moment._

Get your filthy hands off – out of me, _Loki snarled, but Doom ignored him, hand pushing through skin and fat and muscle, deep, deep, and Loki couldn’t summon the breath to scream but apparently it was enough to let his mind usher him away-_

Loki jerked silently awake. _It’s in me._ He couldn’t feel it, not now, but whatever Doom had put inside him was still there, a parasite in his body, buried deep within-

He needed a knife. Needed to cut it out of himself, _now,_ perhaps that was what was perverting his magic and slowing his healing and if he could just pull it out of himself then things would be right again and he wouldn’t be full of this fear nipping at his heels.

Someone grabbed his wrist and Loki realized that he’d been digging his nails into his stomach as though he could tear into his own body with his bare hands, and Steve was saying his name with something frantic in his voice.

“Steve,” Loki said, “there’s something in me. There’s something – _in_ me.” Steve’s expression flickered worriedly.

“What do you mean?” He said, with that note of deliberate calm that made Loki want to snarl. “You were going to hurt yourself, can you tell me what it is-”

“I don’t _know._ ” Loki could hear the tension in his own voice, but he couldn’t calm himself, heart pounding. He needed it gone, needed every trace of Doom that was on and in him _gone._ “I remember him wrist deep in my entrails, putting something metal somewhere inside _my body_ and I want it _out._ ”

Steve blanched, and swallowed. He looked sick, for a moment, but his hands still held Loki’s wrists fast. “I – I’m going to call Dr. Banner and he can run some scans, we’ll figure out-”

“ _I want it gone now._ ”

“Loki,” Steve said, voice tight.

“I will tear it out _myself,_ ” Loki snarled, if he could just summon a knife-

“Loki!” Steve’s voice was sharp. “I need you to look at me. Please.”

Loki looked at him, panting. Steve’s face was drawn, but his eyes were intense, focused. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself worse. Besides – we don’t know anything about what this – _device_ is supposed to do. A lot of things could go wrong if you just – just take it easy, okay? Please. Let me get Dr. Banner and we can figure out what this thing does…”

“I don’t _care_ what it does!” Loki’s voice rose precipitously. “It is his mark, his claim, and I will not – will not-” His breathing was coming short and hard. He couldn’t find the words to speak, couldn’t get the air or make his thoughts stop spinning or the room stop moving.

“Loki,” Steve was saying, and the anger was gone, replaced by a different kind of urgency. “Loki, focus on me. Focus on the sound of my voice. Try to breathe evenly. In, out…” He sounded so _worried._ Loki tried to do as he asked, to focus and breathe and not _think,_ and ended up bent over, his forehead pressed into his knees, pangs shooting through his chest in protest at the position.

“I can still feel his hands,” Loki heard himself say. “Steve. I can still feel…”

“God,” Steve murmured. His hands on Loki’s shoulders squeezed. “God…Loki…”

_It’ll never be over. I’ll never be safe. Someone will always be hunting me and you can’t protect me. No one can._

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, and his voice sounded a little wet. “I’m so sorry. But it’s going to get better, okay? It’s not going to be like this forever.”

_How do you know that?_ Loki wanted to ask, but he didn’t. He knew Steve was right. Memories always faded. These would too. The scars would heal and the damage to his magic…he would heal. Would survive. Wasn’t that what he always did?

He forced his eyes open and made himself uncurl. Steve stroked his hair, once. Loki made himself laugh. “You must think I’m such a fool.”

“No,” Steve said, too quietly. “I don’t think that at all.”

* * *

Banner took off the bandages to examine his chest, Steve hovering nearby. It was all Loki could do to hold still. All he could do not to try to break Banner’s neck every time his gloved fingers brushed skin.

Looking down at himself, Loki could see that he was going to have new scars. He didn’t scar easily or often, but the ugly way the wounds where Doom had cracked him open like a ripe melon were healing…they might fade, but there would still be scars. Faint lines on his skin. Doom’s lingering fingerprints on his body.

“Maybe a few more days until I feel comfortable taking the stitches out,” Banner said. “You’re…healing pretty well, though I understand it’s not like you’re used to. Do you know what could be…inhibiting the process?”

Loki glanced at Steve, who gave him a little nod. He shrugged one shoulder, then regretted the motion as it tugged at the wounds running under his collarbone. “I was given – a concoction of drugs.” Loki felt himself twitch. “Regularly, to inhibit the use of my magic. There is no way of knowing – what the side effects may have been. Short or long term.”

Banner chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Can I take a blood sample?”

Loki felt himself stiffen. “Why?”

“To test for the kind of substances you’re talking about. If I can identify what Doom used maybe I can counteract it.” The words were frank, honest, but Loki thought of needles drawing blood and felt himself coil tight. Banner was watching him. Too closely, Loki thought, and wanted to- “You can say no,” Banner went on, more quietly. “That’s fine.”

“I don’t think,” Loki said, trying to keep his voice measured and even, “that sticking a needle in me would be a good idea at the moment.” He heard Steve shift, and didn’t glance toward him. Banner just nodded.

“Okay.” Loki hated the surprise he felt, blinking stupidly at Banner, who gave him a wan smile and then looked past him to Steve and nodded. “I’ll come back in a couple days to take out the stitches. As long as you _are_ healing…I don’t want to mess with that.”

Banner left, and Loki stared after him. Steve lifted his hand gently, gingerly, and kissed one of the bare patches of skin near the thumb. Those were mending too, but Loki doubted he would be able to hold a knife comfortably for a long while. And his magic…

Still twisted out of shape like a broken limb. Still hurt when he tried to use it.

“Hey,” Steve said, quietly, gently. Patient Steve, staying by his side through fitful sleep and nightmares and his endless weakness that meant he couldn’t even stand for more than five minutes on his own. Would he ever not owe Steve everything? “If you want to talk about anything…”

Loki closed his eyes. “I should have been ready. I should have seen it coming.”

“Then I should have too.” Steve’s voice was stubborn. Loki turned his head away. Steve touched his shoulder, his hand warm. “Loki. You know it’s not your fault, right?”

Loki hesitated, because he knew logically that was so and yet… “Of course,” he said, eventually. Steve sighed.

“Do you really think it’s somehow your fault that you were kidnapped and tortured?”

“If I’d been cleverer,” Loki said, keeping his voice flat, “or faster…” Steve’s expression tightened, and for a moment he looked angry.

“Do you think it was _my_ fault, then, when HYDRA captured me?” Steve asked. “Or is that different, somehow?” Loki knew a trap of a question when he heard one, and looked away. Steve exhaled loudly. “Just…trust me, all right? It isn’t your fault.”

_It’s my fault that I’m not stronger than this. That I’m still frightened of a dead man._ Steve sighed again and when Loki looked back his eyes were downcast and he looked unhappy, discouraged. Loki felt a pang of guilt.

“I will heal, Captain,” he said. “I am not so feeble as to let this destroy me, after everything else that has not.” That might be bravado, but it was at least convincing bravado – or he thought so, until Steve gave him a long look.

“I know,” he said, eventually. “You’re not feeble at all, and I know you’ll heal. But I’m worried that-” he cut off, and then said, carefully, “it’s not just your body. It’s your mind, too.”

Loki felt himself tense. “I am still sane.”

“I never said you weren’t. Just-” Steve cut off, and shook his head. “Never mind.”

He needed to do better, Loki thought. Hide his fear better. Steve did not need to worry over what could not be helped. He would learn to control himself until the memories faded. “I will be fine, Steve,” he said, though he wondered, sometimes. Nagging doubts at the back of his mind that whispered that he had grown weak, complacent, and without anger or hatred or a _goal_ all there would be was memory and the knowledge that even here he wasn’t safe and never would be.

“What are you thinking,” Steve asked, sounding not quite cautious.

“That I want to be out of this room,” Loki said. He’d never liked any kind of healing rooms, and this one was no exception, even if it weren’t for the fact that every time he opened his eyes for a moment he thought he was still there, unconsciousness deserting him to return to the waking nightmare. “If I must be flat on my back I would sooner be so in my bed.”

Steve nodded. “I can understand that. I’ll…after you get the stitches out you can probably move back up, if you want.” He hesitated. “I cleaned up the mess, but the glass hasn’t been replaced yet.”

Loki felt a flash of anger, mingled with a nauseous twist at the thought of Doom in his rooms, in the small space he had carved out as his. For a moment he thought he didn’t want to go back, but that was all the more reason to do so. He would not let Victor take everything that was his. He would not let Victor have _anything_ that was his.

Steve was looking at him again with that strange expression, somewhere between worry and relief. Loki’s eyes were starting to droop again, though, already tired. Too tired to puzzle it out. Between the pain medication Banner was giving him and his own exhaustion, it seemed he was hardly awake at all.

“Go back to sleep,” Steve urged gently.

“I’m so tired of sleeping,” Loki said, though he sank back and closed his eyes.

“I’ll be right here,” Steve said, and Loki hated how much of a relief that was to hear. _The more you need someone,_ Loki’s mind whispered, _the more likely they are to leave you. And you can’t keep him here forever. Sooner or later, someone else will need him more, and he will go. You can’t keep him from that._

* * *

The stitches hurt coming out. Banner was gentle, but they still tugged at tender, healing skin as he pulled them free, and it was all Loki could do not to jerk away. Loki pretended not to notice Steve hovering, wanting to offer comfort, and kept himself contained, his expression blank. It was time for him to start being better.

Loki’s finger flexed unconsciously as another stitch came free and he felt the deep ache of those wounds.  “My hands,” he said. “How long will it be before…”

“I don’t know for sure,” Banner admitted. “A week, two? If you want to avoid permanent damage I wouldn’t start using them for anything that requires serious finger use for maybe three. So no piano playing, if that’s…a thing you do. Or typing. Handwriting…maybe. You can probably go by what hurts.”

Loki tried to relax his twitching fingers. He wondered if there would be scars there, too, through the center of his palms. More marks on his body. Something about that disgusted him; not the scars themselves, but the fact that they were there, Doom’s tattoo on his skin. A remnant of something he wanted scrubbed from every inch of his body.

“As for what else is off limits…I think you can probably figure that out.” Loki wasn’t sure if he found it comforting or irritating that Banner was as twitchy around him as he was around Banner. “And you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want. You can move back up to your rooms again.”

When he had left, Steve stepped up, fingers curling over Loki’s shoulder, maybe just a little tighter than his usual. “Are you sure you want to go back to…tonight?” he said, quietly.

“Why not?” Loki asked, a little sharply. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Steve sighed. “I was just thinking…last time you were there…”

Glass shattering. Weakness overcoming him, pushing him down. Doom’s voice, awful and grating and gloating. _Did you think you could get away from me? You are mine._ He felt himself shudder, and forced the memory out.

“I am not going to be beaten by memories,” he said, voice rough and ugly. Steve looked like he wanted to wince.

“Would you…for me, then? I don’t think I could sleep there. And I’m not about to leave you alone,” Steve added, quickly. Loki felt himself tense and tried to force it out.

“Fine,” he said. If he did not want to appear weak then panicking just because he’d walked into a room was a poor way to prove it. “Your room, then. I’ve always been curious what your bed was like.”

He walked to the elevator, though he had to hold onto Steve and then onto the elevator railing to stay upright. By the time they reached Steve’s room, his legs were trembling and he was panting with exhaustion. Steve looked at him worriedly.

“Maybe we should,” he started to say, but Loki shook his head sharply.

“I’m done with that room,” he said, nearly savagely, and though he knew Steve wanted to protest he did not, just unlocked his rooms and led Loki in. They were neat and relatively spartan, and they smelled like Steve. Steve took him over to the couch and Loki sank gratefully onto it, trying to catch his breath, each inhale coming with a pang.

“Do you need anything?” Steve asked worriedly.

“No,” Loki said, more snappishly than he meant to, and forced himself to smile and add, “thank you.” Steve looked unconvinced, and Loki leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes. “You’re fretting, Captain.”

“I think I have plenty of reason to fret,” Steve said, a little tartly, and then came over and sat down. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hover, it’s just…” He shook his head. “I said I’d keep you safe.”

_I never believed that you could entirely._ “And you have,” he said. Steve let out a sharp laugh that Loki did not like and gestured in his direction.

“You call this safe? You look – god, Loki, you still look like hell warmed over and when I found you…I was terrified you were already dead, that I’d been too late. Because I just assumed leaving you here was good enough to keep you safe and it _wasn’t._ ”

“Careful,” Loki said, dryly, feeling almost stung. “Your praise of my beauty will go to my head.”

Steve gave him a pained look. “That’s not what I – you could’ve been killed.”

“I wouldn’t humiliate myself by allowing Doom to finish me.”

“Stop – joking about this,” Steve said, sounding distressed, and Loki’s heart twisted because Steve shouldn’t sound like that, and not because of him. “I was scared, Loki, I was so _scared_ that I wasn’t going to reach you in time. I’m sick and tired of losing people that I – care about.”

Loki glanced away. “You didn’t lose me.”

Steve’s fingers brushed his cheek and he leaned in to kiss Loki lightly on the mouth. “I know,” Steve said, though the deep worry still lingered in his eyes. “I know. But I just need to know that you’re okay.”

“I am,” Loki said, but it was such a weak protest that not even a blind squirrel would have believed it. Steve didn’t object, though, just sighed and scooted in close, arm loosely around Loki. He fell asleep with his head on Steve’s shoulder and woke up with his head on Steve’s lap. He heard himself whimper quietly and Steve’s quiet _shhh_ , fingers combing gently through his hair.

He didn’t remember his dreams.

* * *

His body continued to heal, whatever had been holding him back starting to fade, the process quickening, though this resulted mostly in restless nights where he jerked awake as his ribs painfully realigned. He stayed with Steve because he did not dare face his own rooms, not when sudden movements had him reaching reflexively for his magic that still hurt when he tried to use it, not when the glint of light off of metal made his heart pound fit to break out of his chest, adrenaline flooding him so violently his limbs shook for hours after.

Steve stayed close. Loki heard him refuse at least two missions and wondered how long it would take for the Captain to start to resent him for keeping him from his duty.

He slept. Most of the time when he slept, he dreamed.

Doom was always there, watching him, when he wasn’t doing worse and making Loki’s blood run all over his table.

Thor came to visit while Steve was reporting to Fury, and Loki only wondered briefly if it was to avoid leaving him alone. “You’re too thin,” was the first thing he said. Loki raised his eyebrows.

“Am I.”

“You are not eating enough. I can see it.” Thor had that look on his face that suggested he wasn’t going to let go of this, so Loki sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Are you capable of cooking yet? If you make me a plate of waffles I will eat them to humor you.”

Thor could, in fact, cook. Loki wasn’t certain when he’d learned – he certainly hadn’t been able to in Asgard, that was _servant’s_ work (or sometimes, Loki’s) – but somewhere along the way he’d gotten good at it. Loki’s appetite had been scant of late, but the waffles were delicious, and Loki ate all of them with relish. Thor looked pleased.

“Satisfied?” Loki asked, licking his fork clean of syrup. Thor smiled at him, though he looked almost unsure. It didn’t fit well on him.

“More than I was. I shall have to make enough for the rest of the week, to ensure that you are feeding yourself.”

“I am capable of minding my own diet, Thor.”

“I will believe that when I see it,” Thor said, stubbornly, and Loki shook his head. He thought he ought to be fighting more, but it was too tiring to consider how best to ensure Thor knew that he was not forgiven and they were not what they had been. He would simply have to trust that for the moment Thor could remember on his own.

Loki looked down at his plate and set his fork down. “I understand I have you to thank for Doom’s timely demise,” he said, after a few moments. Thor’s expression flickered.

“Not timely enough,” he said, a little shortly, but then nodded. “Yes. I slew him on your behalf.”

Loki felt a peculiar little squirming feeling in his chest that he declined to pin down. “A pity you could not save some for me.”

Thor’s expression was just a little savage. “I am sorry to have taken your revenge. If you know of a way to resurrect him, I will gladly stand aside and allow you to do what you wish with the villain.” Thor’s anger was familiar, like the beat of a heart, washing over and through him but not directed at him. Loki could almost enjoy it.

“If I think of something,” Loki said, “I will be sure to inform you.”

Thor moved like he wanted to reach out, but hesitated, and Loki did not complete or encourage the gesture. A moment later Thor simply bowed his head. “I should have killed him sooner,” he said, and then added, “or perhaps you should have.”

“I almost certainly should have.” Thor opened his mouth, and Loki cut him off. “If you are about to apologize, refrain. I have no notion why you would feel the need and I have had enough unnecessary apologies from the Captain.” Thor shut his mouth, which suggested that Loki’s instinct had been right. He looked a little stubbornly displeased, though. Loki grimaced and looked away. “You are not my keeper, Thor. You never have been and _certainly_ not now.”

“Is that solely for you to decide?” Thor asked, sounding a little testy. Loki gave him a flat look, and Thor glanced away. “I understand why you say so, but my responsibility is not so easily abdicated.”

_Why not?_ Loki wanted to ask, a little nastily. He suppressed the urge. “Perhaps you are not trying hard enough, then.”

“Loki…” Thor sighed, and Loki tensed, but to his surprise he dropped the subject.

“When did you learn to cook?” Loki asked, as something of a peace offering. Thor smiled a little ruefully.

“It seemed time that I should. Most mortals know how to do it. I asked Clint Barton to teach me, as he is very talented at it, and took some classes as well.”

Loki felt his eyebrows twitch at the casual mention of Barton. “He is,” he agreed, to see what Thor did, and he gave Loki a startled look followed by an uncomfortable glance away. “Admirable of you,” Loki said, to free Thor from the trouble of having to respond. “Once you would never have deigned to lower yourself to such tasks.”

“I have learned much.” Thor’s eyes tried to catch Loki’s, and the pleading there made him feel vaguely nauseous. “As have you, I think,” he added, after a moment. Loki stood up and turned his back.

“Not to trust mortals in metal masks, certainly,” he said, flatly.

“Tony Stark,” Thor began.

“Perhaps especially that one.”

Thor laughed, though a little awkwardly, and Loki had done his work. The tentative offering was gone, and Thor didn’t bring it up again. For a moment when he left Loki thought he would try to embrace him, but he did not, though there was something forlorn in his eyes that made Loki’s chest ache. He told himself it was only the wounds, still healing.

* * *

Loki shut himself in a quiet room and tried to untangle his magic. He started gently, but it fought him like he was an enemy, this thing that had always been part of him turning against him, lashing out and leaving burns on his forearms, making his head ache and his heart pound, and in the end he screamed in frustration.

“Do you require help?” The machine JARVIS asked from the ceiling, and Loki threw a knife at it without thinking and sank to the middle of the floor, jaw locked and panting. It was his magic. His _birthright._ And he could hardly touch it without it hurting. He rolled up his sleeves and looked at the fading burns on his arms.

_What did Doom do to me?_

Steve arrived a scant few minutes later. The computer, Loki thought, must have called him. “Loki,” he said, breathing just a little hard. “JARVIS said you were…what happened?”

“It won’t work,” Loki said, and then slammed his palms down on the floor and repeated, “It won’t _work!_ I’ve always been able to – I can _feel_ it _right there_ but when I try to-”

“What?” Steve asked, taking a step forward. “Loki, what is it?”

“My magic,” Loki said. “I try to – it turns on me, or it hurts to try to hold it. It feels – _wrong,_ broken, I don’t know how to fix it-” He could hear the growing panic in his voice, and Steve reached out.

“Take a deep breath,” he said, soothingly. “Just calm…”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Loki snapped, and he felt his magic spark and surge but when he tried to control it, to channel it – he gasped, bent over. “I can’t lose it,” he said, and could hear the desperate edge in his voice. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“This has….this hasn’t happened before?”

Loki swallowed. He remembered…after landing among the Chitauri. When he’d attacked Midgard. His magic had been weak and strange and not quite right, but not like this. Not twisted like a snarl of twine. “No,” he said. “I don’t…know.”

“You used magic before,” Steve said, slowly. “In the infirmary. When you felt threatened…”

“It’s still _there._ But when I try to control the use…” Loki shook his head, short and sharp, and shoved himself to his feet. “This is – this is _mine._ He can’t _take_ it from me.”

“And he won’t,” Steve said, and his voice was firm and sure in a way Loki wished he could believe.

“You don’t know that. You don’t know anything.” Loki knew the words came out harsh, and he saw Steve almost flinch, but he couldn’t call them back. He strode for the door.

“Is it – is it possible it’s not about the magic itself?” Steve said, voice tentative. Loki stopped.

“Meaning?”

“Like you said,” Steve said slowly. “I don’t know much about magic. But you’ve said…magic is about will. So maybe it’s not…” Loki wheeled on him, and Steve trailed off.

“Are you saying my _will_ is not strong enough?”

“No!” Steve said at once. “That’s not at all what I’m – I’m saying that your head has been…all over the place, lately. Understandably. You’ve just gone through a lot, it doesn’t seem impossible that it might…affect you in other ways. Maybe including your magic.”

_He thinks you’re weak. He thinks you’re not holding up. That you can’t keep it together._ Loki felt his shoulders tense and tried to force them down.

Steve shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just…a thought. But I know – I don’t believe you won’t figure it out.”

Loki felt his jaw set. “I’d like to move back to my rooms,” he said, abruptly. Steve gave him a startled look that turned to one of worry.

“All right,” he said, slowly. “Now?”

“I cannot stay here forever,” Loki said, his tone crisp, clipped. “And I will not let Doom drive me out of what place I have. It is not as though I have much to move.”

Steve was watching him with what looked like increased worry. “Would you mind if I stayed with you for a couple days?” Loki gave him a sharp look, and Steve added, “for my peace of mind?”

“Do what you like,” Loki said, trying for carelessness. He thought he caught a flash of hurt on Steve’s face, and told himself it was nothing. His body was healing.

He couldn’t let his fears keep holding him. They already had for too long, and he was done with being weak.

* * *

The windows in his rooms had not yet been replaced.

They were covered by sheets of plastic that flapped in the wind, and as Loki stepped through the door he nearly froze, alarm spiking before he pushed it down. Steve made a faint displeased noise as he stepped in as well.

“That should have been taken care of by now,” he said. He sounded nervous, Loki thought, and wondered what he expected. For him to fall apart screaming, or flee, or…Loki took a steadying breath and shrugged.

“It is not terribly important.”

“It is to me,” Steve almost muttered. Loki looked around and felt a strange twinge at everything in place, as though he’d never left, as though there had been no battle here. Steve had put it all back. The pictures were hanging on the walls where they ought to be. It pleased him and made him feel oddly sick in equal measure, like he could see two views of the room, this one, pleasant and harmless, and the other, haunted by Doom’s ghost. Steve was hovering nervously, though, so he made himself smile and murmured, “You put it all back together well.”

“I know how important it is to you for everything to be in the right place,” Steve said, his smile wan. Loki turned and kissed the corner of his lips lightly, hoping it would make up for his own disquiet.

“I’m impressed at how well you remembered.”

Steve ducked his head, looking a little embarrassed. Loki moved further into the room and paused, eyes catching on the wall. He padded over, fingers brushing an irregularity in the plaster. One of his knives had been here.

_“Doom does not forget and he does not forgive,_ ” Loki heard in his ear, and nearly whirled around and hit Steve in the face with his elbow. He managed to stop the motion just in time, but it made his heart quicken and it did not slow so easily.

“Are you all right?” Steve asked worriedly. Loki nodded, the motion terse, and moved away from the wall.

There were other scars that Steve’s housekeeping couldn’t mask. His coffee table was gone, as was his favorite pillow on the couch. The wooden floor was scuffed in several places. There was a small burn mark on one of the baseboards. He could feel Steve watching him and wondered what he was thinking.

“Loki?” Steve said at length.

“Home sweet home,” Loki said lightly, but even in his own ears it sounded strained.

“You don’t need to do this now,” Steve said. Loki felt himself tense.

“Have you a better time to offer?” He asked, more than a little sharply, and he caught the face Steve made out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t push the subject. Loki moved over to the kitchen and checked the refrigerator to note several things that had gone bad. “Waste of food,” he muttered, and shut it again.

It didn’t feel quite like home. He was not at ease and everything just seemed slightly strange, not quite his as it ought to be. He didn’t want to be here. He had to be here.

“Why don’t you go sit down in the bedroom,” Steve said. “It’s pretty cold out here. I’ll make some tea and bring a pot back.”

The bedroom, Loki thought, ought to be safe. He nodded, a little relieved at the offer. “That would be appreciated. Perhaps even a bath later, mm?”

Steve flushed a little, but he nodded, too. “That sounds nice.” He sounded relieved at the offer. At the normalcy, maybe, and Loki wondered if that would be enough, if he could pretend it was just as though he’d been away for a few days…

Loki retreated to the bedroom. He could smell Steve, faintly – so he’d slept here, at least once, probably more than once. He stretched out on the bed and tried to relax.

He remembered saying goodbye to Steve that morning. He’d been worried, but not too much. Sleepy, mostly, and loath to let his captain leave the bed. He closed his eyes, thinking of that morning, warm and half asleep, the two of them twined together, everything soft and sweet like a pleasant dream.

Steve vanished and it was Doom standing over him looking down, and Loki sat bolt upright as Steve appeared in the doorway with two mugs and a steaming teapot. Loki tried to look as though nothing was wrong, which it wasn’t. Other than in his mind.

The tea was sweet and warm. “I still owe you a massage, don’t I,” Loki murmured, sipping at his cup. Steve smiled a little.

“Why don’t you let me give you one and I’ll save mine for later?”

Loki stretched out on his stomach and let Steve work on his back, callused fingers pressing deep into muscle until he groaned and then melted into the mattress. It was almost enough to pretend everything was fine.

* * *

The first night in his bed Loki woke up screaming.

He jolted upright, thrashing and kicking with his heart pounding, and Steve woke with him, asking worriedly “what, what is it?” but it was nothing, just the dark, the dark and his own damned fear.

“Loki,” Steve said, “Loki, shh, it’s all right. It’s just me, just you and me. Just a dream.”

Loki wanted to scream. Wanted to rage and _break_ something, kill something, wanted to rip Doom’s throat out with his teeth but Doom was already dead. He pushed Steve’s hands away and stood jerkily up. “It is not all right,” he snapped, wrapping his arms around himself as though the goosebumps on his skin were from the cold.

Steve sighed. “No, not right now,” he said, with that infuriating calm. “I just meant that there’s nothing here to be scared of.”

“That’s the _problem._ ” His voice came out half a snarl. Steve was quiet for a moment.

“What do you mean?”

Loki squeezed his eyes closed. “I do not wish to talk about this.”

Steve sighed. “I kind of think we need to.”

“And I think we don’t.” Loki started toward the bedroom door. “Go back to sleep, Captain.”

“Do you really think I’m going to do that?”

“I think you should realize this line of conversation isn’t going anywhere,” Loki said flatly.

“You’re pushing me away,” Steve said as he stood up, his voice tight. “I’m trying to help you and you keep-” _I can’t cling to you like a babe at his mother’s apron strings,_ Loki thought, but set his jaw and said nothing. Steve’s expression spasmed. “ _Why?_ Can you tell me that? Is it because you-” Steve swallowed. “Is it because you blame me for-”

“What?” Loki whirled. “No. _No._ I do not hold you responsible for my capture. Why would you think-”

“I don’t know what to think,” Steve interrupted. “You keep shutting me out. If you don’t want me here-”

“Don’t you think I’ve had enough of being seen like this?” Loki burst out, anger breaking through. “Of having _you_ see me like this, weak, pathetic, broken?”

Steve jerked back, his eyes widening a little. He looked surprised. “Loki,” he said, but Loki shook his head sharply and cut him off.

“I cannot – _hide_ in you like a mewling child. I will not be your burden or your duty. If I cannot stand on my own-” His nails bit into his palms. _Weak, weak, weak,_ echoing in his head. “You have seen me at my worst so many times. Is it surprising I might want to keep – just a little of my pride? Is it-” He cut off, sucking in a breath, then another. Loki’s chest felt tight.

“Oh, Loki…” Steve’s voice was soft, and he took a step forward that Loki nearly backed away from. “Is that how you think I see it?”

Loki glanced away, stomach twisting, his shoulders taut. “It is how I see it.”

He heard Steve sigh. “Well…I don’t. I don’t see you as weak. I _never_ have and especially not now.” He took a deep breath. “I remember you asked once if I…ever dreamed of falling.”

Loki turned, warily. “You said you had. What is your point? That you have also had you bad dreams-”

“Not just bad dreams,” Steve interrupted, and looked away. “I didn’t – I never talked about it. But after – after the ice…I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes it was nightmares and sometimes I was just…scared I wouldn’t wake up. Heck, I’m still scared sometimes. And during the day – I couldn’t deal with the cold. Air-conditioned buildings made me break out in sweats. It wasn’t just about the crash, either…loud noises sounded like gunshots and every time I’d be looking around to see who was shooting. Half the time I didn’t know what to do with myself and the other half I wasn’t sure any of this was really real. I thought…” Steve pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I thought I was going crazy. Nobody talked much about – what’s called PTSD now. People didn’t _want_ to talk about it. Do you – do you think I’m weak for feeling like that?”

“No,” he said, finally.

“But the rules are different for you, is that it?”

Loki flinched and looked away. “I should be able to…”

“You’re brave,” Steve said, and Loki felt his mouth twist. “No, let me finish,” Steve said. “You’re brave, and strong, and resilient. But that doesn’t mean you’re invincible. That doesn’t mean you can’t be affected by things and it doesn’t mean you can’t be hurt. What Doom did to you…I’d be scared if you _weren’t_ affected. You might be wounded, Loki. But you sure as hell don’t look broken to me.”

Loki swallowed hard. His mouth felt dry. “Steve,” he said, eventually, and his voice sounded small. Steve sighed and bowed his head.

“If you’re weak,” Steve said, “then am I weak for having nightmares about not coming soon enough? For not wanting to let you out of my sight because I’m scared you’re going to get hurt again? Does that make me weak?”

Loki licked his lips, trying to moisten them. “I…” He hadn’t thought of it like that. That Steve might be hovering because he was as frightened as Loki was, just for different reasons. That it wasn’t just Loki who feared Steve’s absence, but that Steve might fear Loki’s. “…I hadn’t considered it.”

“I don’t feel weak for it,” Steve said. “Just…scared. And that’s not the same thing, is it?”

_Yes,_ Loki’s training insisted. _Fear is weakness,_ but Loki knew that was at least partly Aesir foolishness. Fear could save your life. Fear could be a warning. Fear was not the end; it was what one did with it that mattered. “No,” he said, finally, a little weakly. “It’s…not.”

“It’s okay for you to take time,” Steve said, voice soft but also almost pleading. “That doesn’t make you weak, and I want you to know that I have never, _never_ thought of you that way.”

Something in Loki’s chest unknotted, his breath catching somewhere in his throat. He felt himself shudder and this time he didn’t pull away from Steve’s approach, leaning into his embrace. Steve’s arms tightened and Loki pressed his nose into his shoulder, breathing in the smell of him. His eyes stung.

“I’m so tired of being afraid,” he said, voice muffled. “So tired of being hunted, of being a weapon or a tool or anything other than myself.”

“I know,” Steve said. “I know.”

Loki closed his eyes. Tears spilled over and then to his shame, to his relief, he was crying, silently but with enough force to make him shudder from it.

When it was over, his face wet and his nose running, he felt exhausted and no happier. But maybe cleaner, like an infection had been drained. Steve’s arms were warm and steady and strong, and Loki wished he could just stay there, just keep them forever.

* * *

Loki slipped quietly out of bed in the early hours of the morning, leaving Steve to sleep. He was thinking about what Steve had said, about his magic and about will. He’d been fighting for his magic, battling it. Forgetting that before he’d ever been master of his power he’d had to learn how to surrender, too. How to persuade and cajole and guide. Will was not only brute force and desperation. Not _primarily_ brute force and desperation.

He stood and faced the broken windows covered with sheets of plastic, thinking. He’d been a fool to think that it could be lost. It was him, as much as his thoughts or his feelings or his body. It hadn’t been his magic that was wounded, but him, pushing too hard, knotted in self-blame and self-hatred and the fear of weakness that was even stronger than fear of pain.

Maybe he’d been going about this all wrong.

He didn’t try to grasp it, just taking a moment to let himself feel. The pulse of his own power, and all the energy around him, weaving through everything, making up everything. Complex and interwoven and he let himself listen, trying to relax into it, relax himself back into that flow of things. Doom had cut him off for a time, tried to sever it for good, but this was a part of him like breathing, or the sense of smell or taste.

_Not everything is a war to be won,_ he’d said to Thor more than once. Magic was will. His will. His _being._ Fighting it was only fighting himself.

Loki exhaled. He reached out tentatively, cautiously, and there it was. It came to him, slow and weak but there was no pain and it was _there._ Bent but not broken. Wounded but still alive.

Like him, Loki thought.

Like Steve, perhaps.

Loki closed his fist and his eyes. When he opened both, there was a slender blue flower in the palm of his hand. Loki watched it waver in the breeze through his broken windows.

He was a survivor still.


End file.
